


muse

by knoxoursavior



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, fashion industry au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:09:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3998443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoxoursavior/pseuds/knoxoursavior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia never imagined she would ever get her own line, and she never imagined that she would find a muse in Allison Argent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	muse

**Author's Note:**

> based on art by [nateintheattic](http://nateintheattic.tumblr.com/) for allydia reverse bang 2015! i was so glad to find such lovely artwork when i signed up as a pinch hitter aaah. this fic is a whole lot shorter than i would've wanted but i had time constraints because of school so /o\

They first meet while Lydia's preparing for her first show. It's time to start fitting with the models and she's feeling nervous for the first time since she found out she was going to release her own line.

“Lydia, if you don't calm down, you're gonna end up poking holes in your models,” Derek says, ever the helpful assistant.

“I know that,” Lydia snaps back. Then, she sighs. “Sorry. Everything's just catching up with me.”

Derek shrugs. “Happens to the best of us.”

“I just—what if nothing actually looks good on the models?” Lydia says, wringing her hands together as she paces in circles.

“Lydia, sit down,” Derek says. He stands up and blocks her way, holding Lydia by her shoulders while she takes a deep breath. Then he leads her to a chair with a gentle touch at her elbow.

“You're good at what you do,” he says. “You know you are.”

Lydia presses her lips together.

“I do know that,” she says eventually. “But...”

“The models are about to come in at any minute,” Derek says. He doesn't give her more encouragements like others would. Besides it being out of character, Lydia doesn't really need it from him. Derek wouldn't go around arranging her schedule and making sure she eats right if he didn't think she was at the very least a phenomenal designer.

“Right.” Lydia curls her hands into fists, fingernails digging into her skin. “Okay.”

The models come in just as she feels a tingling in her palms. She's halfway to her first show and she has racks full of clothes that have come out from the pages of a sketchbook she's had since she was fifteen years old. She can handle a few hours of fitting.

  


  


The moment Lydia sees Allison Argent is the moment she rethinks her entire collection.

“Ms. Martin? Is everything okay?”

“What?” Lydia snaps out of her haze, stops staring at Allison and her braided hair, boho dress, and knee-high boots. “Yes, of course. Sorry about that.”

“That's okay,” Allison says, her smile wide and friendly. “So what am I wearing for your show?”

“Let me have a look,” Lydia says, turning away reluctantly so she can run pick from the remaining outfits. There's a bright pink dress that catches her eye, but then she thinks, _too extravagant_. A royal blue coat over a black knee-length dress that's just doesn't feel right. Then, finally, a white ensemble that catches her eye, pure and simple.

Allison Argent is a work of art with her cheeks dusted pink and her lips tinted red, and there's nothing better to put against a stark white canvas but that.

“This will look lovely on you,” Lydia says, her eyes meeting Allison's as she sets the piece down on a table.

Allison nods once before she takes off her dress methodically, easily. Lydia tries not to let her eyes stray. This is something all models do, something they've gotten used to because of the fast pace of the business and the immense pressure backstage, in between turns on the runway.

Lydia finally looks when Allison is done putting on the embroidered white dress, only to have her breath taken away. Allison walks around in the dress, arms swaying with a grace that makes the fairy sleeves move even better than Lydia ever imagined.

She wonders what else would look good on Allison, catches herself reaching for her bag so she can get her tablet and at least get one sketch down. There are so many images flashing in her mind right now—dark, natural tones, jackets lined with fur, flowing dresses that move with the wind.

Later, Lydia tells herself.

“Is this good?” Allison asks. She's standing with her back to the mirror now, head turned to look the details of the dress. “I mean it's lovely, of course.”

“I'm going to need to adjust the waist and the chest areas a bit,” Lydia says, taking her pins and dragging a chair to where Allison is. “This'll only take a while.”

Allison hums in acknowledgment. Now that Lydia's fiddling with the dress, she's standing stock still, every inch a professional model.

After no more than five minutes, Lydia's done, and she has to say goodbye to Allison Argent because a lot more models are waiting in line and she has barely any time to waste.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Martin,” Allison says as she heads out.

Lydia hasn't even asked her to use first names instead of being so formal. She sighs.

Next time, then.

  


  


Lydia and Allison meet a couple more times before the show itself, but it's always fleeting, always with a feeling at the pit of Lydia's stomach telling her to _hurry, hurry,_ _or else you'll mess everything up._ The only actual milestone she's reached so far has been to ask Allison to call her Lydia. Other than that, she's been keeping to herself, trying to keep her body from vibrating with panic every waking moment.

Lydia has never felt so anxious and doubtful in her life and yet she's expected to be so confident about her work. Her only reprieve is her brand new sketchbook, a quarter of it already filled with new sketches, all of which are inspired by the one person who she spends almost as much time thinking of as she does her first show.

On her free time, however rarely it is, Lydia sits down with a cup of juice (the flavor depends on her mood, though she's been having a lot of mango these past few months). A flash of pale skin before another fitting, the sound of rubber squeaking against the tiles, fabric clinging to the curve of Allison's back.

Another design that feels closer to Lydia's heart than ones she worked on as an undergraduate, working her way through Malia's stock of instant noodles and energy drinks.

  


  


She's tired and she's exhilarated and she never thought she could shake as many hands as she has in the past ten minutes.

Lydia knows it's important to talk to all the important guests and to build up a network of contacts, but really, all she wants to do is go back to the hotel and sleep. Maybe she'd drink a can or two of the crappiest beer she can find but mostly she just wants to make up for all the sleepless nights because honestly, she hasn't closed her eyes properly in 72 hours. If it weren't for Stiles' special mix of black tea and red bull, she'd have collapsed long before this moment.

Still, if she's going to endure playing nice with the Very Important People for the next hour or so, then she's going to need a bit more than Derek's guiding hand on her back and surprising tact when answering questions for her.

“We'd be glad to sponsor you for your next collection,” she hears from some bigwig dressed in an admittedly pleasant two-piece dress. Her name is Jennifer Blake and Lydia's hears about her all the time from Derek. He practically waxes poetic about her, and right now Lydia can tell he's turned up the charm.

She isn't very sure they remember she's there, but she manages to quietly slip away as they stare into each other's eyes so there's that.

Lydia all but scrambles away from the pair as quickly and as discreetly as she can, head bowed down and steps silent. In her hurry, though, she bumps into someone and feels her elbow digging into flesh.

“I'm sorry,” Lydia says immediately, her eyebrows knitting and her lips pressing together in worry. She instinctively reaches out to touch and to soothe, and when she looks up to see who it is—well. Of course it _has_ to be her.

“Oh my god, Allison, are you alright?” Lydia asks, her voice rising one or two above her usual and her hands curling into fists as they snap to her sides. “I am _so_ sorry.”

Allison laughs, raising her hands to placate. “You didn't hurt me, Lydia.”

“I was in a hurry, I—” Lydia groans, stopping herself. “I'm saying sorry way too much, aren't I?”

“You definitely are,” Allison says, shaking her head in amusement. “Stop worrying so much. Besides, people are starting to stare.”

It's enough to startle Lydia back into the situation. She's forgotten why she was even hurrying in the first place.

“I need to get out of here,” Lydia blurts out, her eyes wide as she looks around her for signs of Derek. He's nowhere near, thankfully.

“Is something wrong?” There's a hand gripping Lydia's arm and pulling her close. When Lydia turns to look at Allison, her jaw is set and her eyebrows are knit together. “Is the press hounding you or something?”

A rush of guilt turns Lydia's cheeks pink, and she suddenly feels embarrassed for overreacting. “No,” she says. “God, no. It's just—I just want to go home, you know?”

Lydia's still pressed against Allison, so when she feels her knees wobbling, it's Allison she sags against.

“Hey.” Allison wraps her arms around Lydia, rubbing circles on her back to comfort her. “I get it. You're tired. Let's get you a cab.”

Lydia lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

“Thank you.”

  


  


_I'm not usually so out of it_ , Lydia sends to Allison the next day.

Of course, to get Allison's number, she had to bribe Cora with that unbelievably expensive art deco pen kit she's been eyeing for two whole months. After that, it was as easy as Cora fiddling with her brother's phone while he's cooking so she could look at his contacts.

Lydia only had to wait thirty minutes for results and she's so impressed with Cora that she might just include a nice moleskin journal in the package.

 _really? how are you usually, then?_ Allison texts back fifteen minutes later.

_Much more reasonable, also probably a lot less twitchy._

_i've never actually seen you reasonable, i think. :o_

_I'm never reasonable when I'm working. I'm much more likeable when I'm just at home and eating cereal in my pajamas._

_you know, i had you pegged as a lingerie sort of girl._

It takes Lydia a while to answer. She takes a shower and afterwards she sits on her bed, staring at her phone until she finally gets the guts to continue their conversation.

_Yeah, well, I have you pegged as a baggy t-shirt and socks kind of girl._

The replies come instantly now.

_not so from reality, honestly. though i wear knee-highs tights, not socks._

_That… is even better, suprisingly._

_even better for what? : >_

Emoticons really should turn Lydia on so much.

_Wouldn't you like to know?_

_i would, actually. maybe over a cup of coffee?_

_Saturday, 5 pm. At that coffee shop across the office?_

_good with me. :)_

 

  


In the two days she has to endure before the date, Lydia tells herself that she can handle it.

She's been on dates before. She's great at dates, always knows what people want to do before they even know it. There's no reason for her to be nervous.

Except on the morning before the actual date, she finds that all her mind can come up with is a blank. She can't even pick out something to wear, so how is she going to manage to charm Allison and make her laugh and make her think that another date is what they need?

She could call Stiles. Actually, no, he'd only make her worry more. Derek can barely handle looking at Erica and Boyd holding hands without his face twisting in an expression of pain and _please save me_. Scott and Kira are too earnest for their own good and would probably overdo it.

There's really only one person sensible enough for this kind of emergency, and honestly Lydia should even have to think about it.

“I need your help, Danny,” she says as soon as the ringing stops.

“Details,” Danny replies after a moment of rustling from his end of the line.

“Date at 5 pm with that model from my show. I've told you about her. Allison Argent,” Lydia says. “I have no idea what I'm going to wear or what I'm going to do.”

“Lyds, come on.” She can see him rolling his eyes in her mind's eye. “You've got this. Wear that peach floral dress that you just bought. Wear boots. Do what you usually do.”

“But Danny.” Lydia stops, because she doesn't really know what she could say to that.

“But nothing,” Danny agrees. “So what if this girl's exactly your type? It's a simple coffee date. You've got stories to tell. You're interesting. Tell her your first kiss was in first grade with our class rabbit. Or, even better, tell her about that time you rejected everyone who asked you out to prom to go with Jackson, of all people.”

Lydia chokes out a laugh. “ _Danny._ ”

“What? It's a valid topic,” he says, and Lydia doesn't need the years of being friends with him to know that there's a wide smile on his face right now. He's probably going to laugh his ass off and cuddle with Ethan after he hangs up.

“Oh my god, I don't even know why you have to remind me every other month,” Lydia says, shaking her head.

“You're welcome, Lyds. Glad to be the bane of your life.”

“Stiles is the bane of my life, Danny.”

“I like to think I come in as a close second,” Danny says. “Good luck with the date. Tell me about it later.”

“I will. Thanks, Danny.”

Danny hangs up then, and Lydia finds herself more focused than before. Peach dress and a pair of boots. She can do that.

  


  


Lydia manages to get herself together and arrives at the cafe just at the same time as Allison does.

“Hey,” she says, her lips immediately quirking up into a smile at the sight of Allison in a comfortable-looking purple sweater and a simple black pleated skirt. “You look great.”

Allison's dimple shows when she smiles back. “Thanks. You do too.”

Lydia beams, and Allison looks away for a moment, bowing her head to hide the way her cheeks turn pink.

Lydia doesn't know why she ever worried.

  


  


Lydia doesn't do that three-day bullshit people think is standard. She likes Allison so before they part at the end of the day, Lydia makes sure that they're going to see each other again.

“I had fun today,” she says, squeezing Allison's hand gently.

“I did too,” Allison replies, and her smile is blinding.

“I'd love to see you again,” Lydia says, feeling a spark of courage.

“Really?” Allison's cheeks turn pink and her lips part in pleasant surprise. “I mean, yeah. I feel the same way. What about Friday next week?”

Lydia licks her lower lip and tries not to smile so widely.

“Yeah. Yeah, Friday sounds good.”

  


  


They go on another date, and then another date after that. And then another, and then another.

Allison tells her on their fifth date that she goes to the archery range whenever she feels like blowing off some steam, and ever since then an image of Allison with a bow and arrow in her grasp has been stuck in Lydia's mind.

Again and again, it comes to her, always with an arrow ready to be fired, always with Allison's eyes focused in a distant target, but never with the same set of clothes.

So Lydia brings them all into the world and she continues filling her sketchbook while Allison continues _being_. Lydia finds herself veering away from her usual patterns and fits, and instead, she sticks to neutral colors and pieces that fit stay close to the body yet still fit loosely. Clothes that are easy to breathe in, comfortable.

Clothes that are perfect for Allison.

  


  


“I wanted to be a scientist when I was a kid,” Lydia says.

There are some bands playing in the local park tonight so Lydia and Allison had a bit of a picnic that day. Now, with only some sodas left in the cooler and just as the horrible first band finally gets off the stage, they're just lying down on a blanket, arms pressed together and eyes fixed on the stars.

“What happened?” Allison asks.

“I still want to be a scientist. Someday, I'll probably get a degree in genetics or something.” Lydia shrugs. “But right now I want to try out being a designer.”

Allison huffs, sounding more amazed than skeptical. “That easy?”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “Of course not,” she says, “but I like to think that I'd be able to handle it.”

“I'm sure you will,” Allison says. Will, not would.

Lydia hums in reply, takes Allison's hand and intertwines their fingers.

They're quiet for a while, listening instead to a filler performance. It's a woman onstage, singing a self-written song while she plays her guitar. Her voice is soft, dreamy, pleasing to the ears. Lydia could listen to her all night.

_Take a chance. Take a chance._

“Allison, you don't have any bookings for early next year, right?” Lydia asks.

Allison hums in thought. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“I want you to model for my next collection.” Lydia turns to look at Allison, only to see her eyes wide with curiosity.

“You're working on it already?”

“Well,” Lydia pauses, presses her lips together, “I might have finished it already.”

Allison's jaw drops and her mouth forms into a surprised 'o'. “Do you even realize how amazing you are?”

“Allison,” Lydia whines, her cheeks dusted pink. “Come on.”

“I'll have to check with Deaton, but you know I'm going to be there,” Allison says, grinning.

Lydia gives Allison a quick peck on the cheek.

“Thank you.”

  


  


“You know, when you asked me to be in your next show, I didn't know it would be like _this_.”

Lydia's eyebrows furrow. “Like what?”

“Well, I mean,” Allison waves her hand around, looking flustered with her eyes wide and her ears red, “like this. With me being the star of the night like Derek says.”

“Well of course you are. I designed all these clothes for you, Allison. If it were possible, you'd be the only model on the runway.”

“For _me_?” Allison's jaw drops in surprise. “How long have you been working on this again?”

“Ever since my first collection,” Lydia admits, bowing her head to avoid Allison's eyes. “I've been pining after you for a long time, okay?”

Allison huffs out a mix of a laugh and a sigh. “Well looks like we're even. I've liked you since I first saw you in New York Fashion Week two years ago. You didn't know me then, but I saw you with Derek.”

“And you've really liked me since then?” Lydia asks. She tries not to sound skeptical; She doesn't think Allison would lie. This is just something she'd never expected, something too good to be true.

“I kind of bribed Deaton with a year's worth of dogsitting if he got me in your first show,” Allison says, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.

“Well the joke's on him. You love Apollo,” Lydia says, a tiny smile on her face.

Allison shrugs. “He knows. He just likes to make me think he's not doing me a favor.”

Lydia nods, and then she finds herself losing her train of thought, grasping at whatever witty reply she could have said. Instead, “Are you okay with this? Is this too much?”

Allison is immediately at her side, one hand on her back to soothe her and another on her forearm to steady her. “Hey. Of course I'm okay with it. I was just surprised.”

Then Allison's hand is cupping her cheek, thumb brushing against her skin. She's leaning in for a kiss and Lydia's worries are falling away with every millisecond that their lips are touching, slowly but surely.

“Thank you,” Lydia says when they pull away from each other, breathless.

Allison laughs. “You're the one I should be thanking.”

“Tell you what,” Lydia says, wrapping her arms around Allison's middle. “After this show, we'll catch a movie and have a nice candle-lit dinner like people usually do. It'll be romantic.”

Allison snorts. “If I can get you away from your sketchbook for one second.”

“Well, technically, _you_ are the reason I couldn't put down my sketchbook, so.” Lydia tries to hide a smile by pressing a kiss against Allison's jaw.

“Cockblocked by myself,” Allison says, gasping theatrically. “What a tragedy.”

“You know, I'm pretty sure us girls don't get cockblocked.”

Allison rolls her eyes. “Semantics.”

Lydia laughs. “You're ridiculous.”

“You're beautiful,” Allison counters, and really, she is _so unfair_.

“You're not supposed to say nice things when we're teasing each other,” Lydia groans.

“Well, you're not supposed to be so sweet and amazing,” Allison says simply. Then she leans in for another kiss.

Lydia doesn't have any more complaints.

  


  


Despite what Lydia's read on magazines or heard on interviews, the prep for a show doesn't get any easier. It's still stressful and she still feels like she could collapse from exhaustion at any moment. The pressure still weighs on her shoulders, makes her heart heavy and her throat close up at inappropriate times.

Allison is her only reprieve.

Allison who says, “We're almost there, Lydia.”

Allison who brings Lydia home when she knows that Lydia has worked herself too hard.

Allison who says, “You're amazing, Lydia, and I know you want to do so much, but you also need to rest.”

Allison who is always there to give Lydia a hug and a push when she's feeling like quitting.

Allison who says, “Hey, we have date night to look forward to, don't we? We agreed to do it after we finish this show. That means no quitting.”

Allison who wears socks to bed and loves Bill Nye the Science Guy and laughs at sexual innuendos on TV. Allison who is beautiful and understanding and _incredible._

Lydia always makes sure to tell Allison just that.

  


  


_Huntress by Lydia Martin._

It was really the only thing Lydia thought to call her collection. There's no other word to describe the clothes and there's no other word to describe how Allison looks as she walks down the runway again and again.

Lydia has never been so proud, has never felt like her designs could suit someone so well.

They call her up the stage after the show. They say her name and sing her praises but Lydia can hardly hear anything over the claps of the audience. It's amazing, exhilarating, unbelievable—even more than her first show.

When they hand her the microphone, she can only think of Allison.

“I never imagined that I would be back here on stage in less than a year,” Lydia says, breathless in her excitement. “Then again, I never imagined I'd meet my muse.”

She takes a deep breath, tries to compose herself, exhales. When she asks for Allison to accompany her on stage, the cheers only get louder. More lights flashing in her face, more cameras clicking.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Allison Argent,” Lydia says, holding out a hand for Allison to take. “This collection wouldn't have been possible without her.”

They are holding hands in front of the entire world and Lydia doesn't care.

Lydia is leaning in to press a kiss to Allison's cheek and the cameras are flashing even more, but she does not care.

  


  


They do go on that date.

They actually watch a movie instead of picking the worst one and making out in the back. Lydia isn't sure how they pulled that one, honestly.

After that, they head back home because Allison is craving some good ol' McDonald's after having to watch her weight for the show.

“I don't need some fancy food right now,” she says. “I just want some _fries_.”

Lydia laughs. “You're hopeless.”

Allison smiles knowingly. “You love me for it.”

Lydia sighs. “I do,” she admits.

And that is the truth.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on [tumblr](http://connerkent.tk/)!


End file.
